


the words, they fall short of something profound

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MSBY Black Jackals (mentioned), Mental Health Issues, Miya Atsumu Needs a Hug, Pre-Relationship, depressive episodes, relationship up to interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28997424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Sakusa opens the door to his bedroom, Atsumu’s too tired to shout, to demand him to leave, to force him to leave the ugliest parts of himself alone instead of poking and prodding at it with a stick.But he can’t. And he knows he’ll regret not doing so later, when he has enough energy to feel the shame, and the humiliation, and the deep-rooted self-hatred.He’s so tired.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 191
Collections: Anonymous





	the words, they fall short of something profound

_ “The most important step a man can take. It's not the first one, is it? _

_ It's the next one. Always the next step.” _

_ Brandon Sanderson, Oathbringer _

☽

“Coach asked me to check in on you.”

When Sakusa opens the door to his bedroom, Atsumu’s too tired to shout, to demand him to leave, to force him to leave the ugliest parts of himself alone instead of poking and prodding at it with a stick.

But he can’t. And he knows he’ll regret not doing so later, when he has enough energy to feel the shame, and the humiliation, and the deep-rooted self-hatred. 

He’s so tired.

_ And he didn’t even bother to knock. _

It’s a Herculean task to shimmy up his bed so his mouth is exposed, craning his head upwards, blearily staring at his teammate. It’s even harder for Atsumu to open his mouth and find the words in the junk drawer of his own mind. “How didja get in,” he slurs, before letting his head hit the mattress again.

Yes, the bare mattress. He couldn’t find the energy to put pillows on his bed, let alone sheets. He just crawls underneath a large blanket, covered in a layer of the clean laundry he did two weeks ago and still hasn’t found the motivation to fold. So what if he’s worn the same outfit 6 days in a row. So what if he hasn’t showered. So what if he wants to melt through the floor.

Not that he can even see his floor. It’s covered in a layer of snack wrappers, dirty laundry, self-help books (ha), knick -knacks, photos, what have you. Point is, the spaces where the hardwood peeks through the mess are few and far in between.

“Your door was unlocked.” Sakusa sounds unimpressed.

“Ah,” he replies, quiet enough he can barely hear his own reply. He listened to this true-crime video a few weeks ago, and it discussed an American murderer who would take unlocked doors as a welcome invitation to enter. So he would be easy pickings.

These types of things usually haunt his psyche at every turn, but he can't even bring himself to be scared.

_ (When you hit rock bottom, there’s only one way left to go: Up!) _

(Whoever said that was full of shit.)

“Are you sick?” Sakusa’s displeased.

_ Maybe. Not the way you’re thinking of, but maybe.  _ “No.”

There’s quiet.

“You are aware that this is disgusting, right?” Sakusa’s voice is still pretty toneless, but there’s the serrated edge of  _ revulsion _ sharpening the tip of his tongue as he surveys Atsumu’s room.

Ah. Sakusa did always know where it would hurt. And hurt it did.

Because exactly 6 seconds later Atsumu bursts into tears.

_ (Ha. Bet you weren’t expecting that!  _ Since when was crying a victory for him? What the fuck?)

(Well. At least now he can feel something.)

Atsumu wants to laugh because, through his tear-blurred vision, he can tell that Sakusa is flailing about, trying to find the right words to say. At the same time, he cries even harder, because Sakusa’s  _ right. _

“I _ am  _ disgustin’.” Atsumu makes the awful, choked up noises that make him feel more and more rotted away. He’s given up. “I am disgustin’, and I don’t know how to make it  _ stop, _ because I don’t want to  _ live  _ like this Omi. Is this even living if I’m just doin’ the bare minimum to survive? If I can’t even find a single reason compelling enough to get out of bed, if volleyball doesn’t make me happy the way it used to, if I can’t even function as a goddamn adult! If I need a fucking  _ babysitter?” _

Because he’s  _ particular.  _ He likes his space neat and tidy, because he has the attention span of a goldfish if he’s not hyper fixating on something, and he likes to have his personal bubble clear of any distractions. Because he and Osamu have always, always drawn a line in the sand and had the most particular boundaries possible when they shared a room. Because he hates messes, because growing up with a mother obsessed with cleaning the house does that to you, and you think you’ve left it behind until you clean your kitchen counter for the 6th time that day because you think you can see a speck of dust. Because he’s not as sloppy as everyone seems to think he is, because he worked hard to break the preconceived notions everyone had of him, worked hard to improve himself—

Just for him to go back to square one.

Because his room looks like one of those NHK articles on hoarders.

And he lives up to his image, doesn’t he?

(He’s messy. Needy. Always letting others clean up after him.)

He turns on his side to face the wall. The tears drip out of his eyes and onto the bed. Some of the drips end up on his nose, in his mouth. He doesn’t care. He’s surprised he still has enough water in him to cry.

It’s ironic, that at the height of his fame, he’s never felt lonelier in his life. The world seems so big, and he feels so small, like he might be the only one who’s ever felt the endless weight of his own existence.

…Sakusa is still here.

“I don’t know how yer mind works, but you ever have those d-days where it feels like the air’s bein’ crushed out of you all at once, except it’s constant and even though you need the universe to stop, the world keeps s-spinnin’ to spite you?”

  
“Yes.” Sakusa’s is  _ clear, _ much clearer than before, but the shapes of his mouth around his response are soft, closer to Atsumu’s ears. Atsumu supposes he heard the distant crinkle of plastic earlier, perhaps of a room slipper stepping on an empty chip bag, but he didn’t quite process the fact that Sakusa ‘Picky Bitch’ Kiyoomi deemed his room worthy of entering despite the fact he currently lives in squalor. “Yes, I do.”

Atsumu’s voice is small and childlike when he tries to speak again. “Why are movies always about high schoolers? Why is th-that the most romanticized period of our lives, when there’s so much more ahead of us? D-does it ever get better, Omi? Can the world just gimme a break?”

“...I’m sorry, Miya.”

Atsumu starts crying again, because Sakusa didn’t answer his question, didn’t even bother lying to him or comforting him, wasn’t even able to say the magic three words:  _ It gets better. _ “C-can you s-s-s-stop calling m-me M-m-Miya please? P-please, I’m beg— _ hic _ —I’m beggin’ you. I’m so tired. So tired.”

“Atsumu.” Hesitation, when Atsumu fills in the gaps with fantasies about being cared for. “What… can I do to help?” And then his cluttered, awful mattress dips under the weight of Sakusa sitting on the edge of the bed.

_ Huh? _

“Huh?” Atsumu mumbles intelligently, rolling over to look properly at Sakusa’s face. 

“How can I help? Should I reach out to Osamu? Can you let me know if there’s anything I can do, if it would help if I cleaned your room, or did your dishes, or dealt with the trash… Hell, I can type out an email for you or talk to Coach myself.”

Atsumu distantly wishes his mask was off so he could read his expressions. At the very least there’s his body language, which is optimistic. He isn’t avoiding touching him like the plague. He isn’t looking around the room in thinly-concealed contempt. He isn’t on his phone, ignoring him. 

Sakusa interlocks his hands in discomfort, twiddling his thumbs in his lap, but admirably charges through the rest of his words anyway. “You… you’re clearly going through something, and you’re not getting the support you need. And I want to try my best to be that for you, until you can get back on your feet and get more help.”

_ (What?) _

_ (...This is absurd.) _

“Why?” Atsumu’s voice cracks pathetically as he rolls over, ignoring the knee-jerk reaction of  _ ‘Samu, ‘Samu, I want ‘Samu.  _ Because Osamu’s got his own life and Atsumu has his, and Osamu shouldn’t have to baby his older brother, and Sakusa’s not looking at him with the pity Atsumu is expecting to see but understanding. Empathy. 

Atsumu is so startled he stops crying because this is the most emotional he’s ever seen his teammate, someone he’s tempted to call his friend but doesn’t do so in fear that he might feel differently. Because Sakusa Kiyoomi is not, like other people seem to think, a robot, just careful about what he shares with the people around him, meticulous about the things he wants to say, the ideas he wants to communicate.

“Why?” Sakusa parrots back. “Why what?”   
  
“Why are ya… why are ya tryin’ ta help?”

Sakusa takes his mask off, folding it inside out and fiddling with the elastics. “Do I need a reason?” He takes a breath to speak some more, then drops it. He settles on looking at Atsumu with a look far softer than should be allowed, not quite smiling but looking at him with a begrudgingly fond air.

_ Take it or leave it. _

“Omi,” Atsumu asks, voice small. “Omi, Can you hug me?”

Sakusa, to his credit, does follow through, flopping against the mattress to swing an arm around him, albeit through a layer of blankets. Atsumu supposes this is reasonable; he isn’t moving anytime soon and getting on the bare mattress with him might not be ideal. He’s pretty sure his hair is one singular, greasy mass by now. But still. It’s a hug. It’s a comfort. It’s a reassurance.

A barely-there promise.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is now hugging Atsumu for much longer than he thought he would.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is now breaking the silence. “We miss you.”   
  


Had he had his normal amount of energy, Atsumu’s eyes would be bugging out of his head already. For now, he weakly asks, ‘We’?”

“Bokuto, Hinata, Inunaki, Meian, Thomas… I don’t know how to phrase this, but it’s emptier in that gym without you.” Sakusa hugs him tighter. “Noticeably so. It’s disorienting.”

Atsumu forcibly swallows the frog sitting in his throat. They aren’t appreciative of the quiet they receive in his absence? They don’t feel relieved that he’s gone?

  
“People care about you.” Sakusa looks up to Atsumu, finally meeting his eyes. “Myself included.”

Atsumu knows he’s turning red but again, he can’t bring himself to care. There are hairline cracks developing on the porcelain of his heart and the brash, unrestrained image he’s developed refuses to come out of hibernation.

“And I know how often I can be sarcastic, but it has not been unfortunate that I’ve gotten to know you. I consider it a privilege.”

There’s a dampness gathering around his eyes, clumping his lashes together. It’s quiet when these tears start to fall, Atsumu straining to stay silent.

“This will pass, and in the meantime, we will be by your side.”

Atsumu laughs, wet with salt-water and bygone self-loathing, but at the very least, genuine. “That was one hell of a pep talk, ‘Omi. Real cheesy too, but I’ll let it slide.” He reaches up to wipe away his tears, rubbing the crust forming over his vision, finally looking at the world with fresh eyes.

Sakusa shakes his head, exasperated. “Humor won’t save you this time. I know it’s uncomfortable but I’m afraid you’ll just have to accept the truth: that you’re cared for.”

And for the first time in a while, there’s light at the end of the tunnel. It’s dim and flickering, but it’s there.

☉

_ “IT’S OKAY, _

_ YOU ARE THE SUN, _

_ YOU’LL RISE AGAIN.” _

_ Ventum _

**Author's Note:**

> hi.
> 
> i'm embarrassed because this is a little too similar to a lot of fics already existing in this fandom. an oversaturation, you might say. thus, publishing on anon. i apologize for adding to the slew of works on ao3 that woobifies miya atsumu. at the same time, i hope you found this as comforting to read as this was to create. projection is a powerful tool when it comes to writing.
> 
> quote authors can be found here:  
> [Brandon Sanderson](http://brandonsanderson.com/) | [Ventum](https://www.ventumofficial.com/)
> 
> please leave a review on your way out.


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